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“Elizabeth?”

She pushed against his chest.

“Nicholas.”

Her hair had loosened. It fell against a dark gown he had never seen, and the face which had welcomed him was wet with tears.

“You gave your word.”

He wanted to answer her. He knew that he had kissed her, that she had come to him freely, and that the grief in her face was somehow his doing.

“You have betrayed me,” she said.

A door slammed somewhere beyond the room.

Darcy woke in his own bed, one hand clenched in the sheet. The familiar outline of the bedpost stood between him and the pale window. He could hear no footsteps, no closing door, only his own breath in the quiet room.

For several moments he lay without moving.

Nicholas. He had known that name since childhood, long before an innkeeper reminded his guests of the old tale. His mind had made use of it. There was nothing extraordinary in a dream assembling things which a man had heard and things he was ashamed to want.

That explanation did not remove the memory of Elizabeth’s mouth beneath his.

He sat up. The room was cold enough to make him reach for his robe, and he was grateful for the ordinary inconvenience. He lit a candle and poured water from the jug.

By the time he had washed, he could remember the kiss with an accuracy which made the accusation afterward more disturbing. He did not know which part of the dream he most wished to forget.

In a few hours she would meet him in the hall, expecting nothing more than a basket and a walk.

He would be obliged to deserve at least that much confidence.

Chapter Thirteen

THE BASKET WAS larger than Darcy had expected.

Cook had supplied bread, butter, a small cake wrapped in a clean cloth, and a pot of preserve which she said was for Mrs. Bell. Elizabeth inspected the contents while Sir watched from the hall. Sally held the dog by the collar, a precaution he regarded with evident injury.

“If you had been content with your own breakfast yesterday, none of this would be necessary,” Elizabeth told him.

“He has had his breakfast this morning,” Darcy said.

“Then we must hope it will sustain him until we reach the cottage.”

She covered the basket and turned toward Darcy. He had meant to greet her with perfect composure. Instead he noticed that she wore the same walking gown as yesterday, and was grateful that the difference from the gown in his dream gave him something harmless to attend to.

“Shall I carry that?” he asked.

“I was depending upon your promise.”

He took it. Her fingers left the handle before his closed about it.

They set out after breakfast. The morning was clear. In the shaded places Elizabeth drew her shawl more closely about her shoulders. Sally walked behind them, and Sir, released upon reaching the path, hurried ahead to discover whether yesterday’s acquaintances had made further arrangements for his entertainment.

Sam was waiting at the cottage gate.

“He has not been here all morning,” Mrs. Bell said from the doorway. “Only since he finished eating.”

The boy ignored this qualification and looked at the basket.